


Thanks Given

by klutzy34



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV), Leverage
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21585907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klutzy34/pseuds/klutzy34
Summary: Sometimes all a quiet holiday needs is the appearance of an old friend.
Relationships: Mr. Quinn/Maureen Cahill
Kudos: 17





	Thanks Given

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've dipped my toe into the Lethal Weapon or Leverage pools and I just wanted to try something short and sweet for the attempt. Riggs and Dr. Cahill were one of my favorite connections on the show and it just went from there.

While Maureen Cahill usually enjoyed the many conversations around her and the constant flow of patrons in and out of the restaurant’s outdoor seating area, the vibrant atmosphere it created after a long day of work where she could just shut down for a little while and think of nothing but the steak in front of her, the quiet brought on by the holiday made for a nice change of pace. The remainder of the cabernet sauvignon swirled slowly in the stem glass between her fingertips as she tuned out the quiet murmur of conversation and gave her full attention to Sarah and her attempts to talk her strapping Scot out of his kilt. 

Sometimes a ridiculous romance novel was just what the doctor needed. 

The phone at her elbow vibrated on the table and she spared a glance towards the screen, one text message popping up and then a second. 

_Just wanted you to know the offer to join us for dinner is still open._

_Very open. Please. Come save me from my in-laws._

The image of Brooks Avery pressed into a nook of the house he shared with Todd, trying to hide from his father-in-law, was almost enough to make her cut her dinner short and make an appearance just to save her colleague from the man. Unfortunately it wouldn’t do him much good for the next few days. She tapped the screen, shutting it off, and picked up her fork and knife to dig into the steak again.

She stopped as the waiter appeared and set a plate on the table opposite her. No explanation, nothing said, just a smile and a nod of the head before he disappeared back through the doorway. Maureen glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see a familiar face weaving through the tables to join her. Maybe Avery finally fled his in-laws or Bowman, his parents in Aruba for the holiday. No Bailey or Scorsese either.

Curiosity got the better of her and she leaned forward to get a better look at the dish, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the chicken parmesan, edges perfectly browned and firm just as a certain Texan once loved it. A certain Texan that sat across the table from her in that very spot, eating like a man who hadn’t seen a decent meal in weeks, catching on to the plan in a beat and slyly giving his approval. That night felt like forever and a day ago instead of just a couple of years. She slid the plate back and leaned back in her seat. 

“Hope that seat ain’t taken or someone’s going to be a little disappointed because that looks too good to resist. So I’m not even goin’ to try.” Maureen jumped, the deep voice at her shoulder not giving her any time to turn and look before it was heading for the seat opposite. Long hair pulled back into a barely curling ponytail and tucked under a ball cap, bill pulled low, red and black checkered flannel shirt under a tan jacket, worn jeans. 

“Ri - “ Maureen cut herself short before the name slipped out, silently admonishing herself for the mistake. Even after the past year, it was all too easy to call him by that name and not the one given to deep cover operators stripped of public life and history. “ _Quinn._ ” 

He gave her that smile, one cheek puffed out like a chipmunk on an acorn gathering mission. “Happy Thanksgivin’, Doc.”

She lightly smacked the hand reaching for her glass of wine, the candlelight illuminating the familiar tattoo on his finger as well as the abrasions and bruises from a recent fight. Her expression became one of concern and she peered closer at his face. The baseball cap’s bill pulled low shadowed enough of his face from her. “Do you think this is a good idea? Isn’t it tempting…” Maureen made a small gesture at the sparsely populated seating area. 

“You told me you were havin’ a quiet holiday. That means alone. Didn’t seem right.” This time he grabbed the wine glass before she could catch him and took a swig. Appreciating, she was sure, the slightly more expensive vintage she’d chosen to go with her meal. Despite her worry, she felt a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and eased back in her seat. “Besides, I was havin’ a quiet holiday too and I was in the neighborhood. Bein’ dead don’t give me a lot of people to visit so I thought I’d come see my favorite.” 

Maureen lifted her glass in the air, indicating the need for a refill. “So what you’re saying is I’m the last resort?” She set her chin on her clasped hands, elbows resting on the table. Across the table, Quinn went still, even ceasing to chew as he mulled over how to get out of the corner she’d just backed him into. The silence lasted long enough for the waiter to pour a fresh glass and bring one for him as well. 

“I didn’t say that. I said...what I meant to say is not many know. About me. So I thought it’d be nice to spend some time with someone I didn’t have to pretend around.” What started out as gentle teasing became fidgeting with the cloth napkin, change in his body posture indicating discomfort. She rest her hand on top of his, pulling his attention back to her.

“I know. I was joking with you,” she told him, offering a light smile. “I just wish you’d told me. I could have chosen somewhere quieter or maybe made something at home or…”

He waved a hand in the air. “This is your place, Doc. That’s how I knew to look here.” How he knew where to look, how he knew the right thing to say and the right moment to be there. He didn’t give himself the credit he deserved and her role as his therapist, even now, kept her from telling him just how much the gestures meant to her. 

How much it meant that even after his handlers reactivated him, after his faked death and disappearing into the field, he chose to find a way to continue their sessions. Less official these days and more a way to keep him on the path away from his inner darkness absolutely enveloping him. 

Soon the two of them were alone, quiet falling as the last couple left. He finished off his meal and downed the last of his wine inbetween stories sparse with details, most of it classified or incriminating. She told a few of her own, keeping him up to date on the little LAPD family he’d been adopted into briefly. His head dipped down, silently listening. She’d always wondered how much he missed that life but never asked, letting him open up in one of their video sessions on his own. Someday. 

At the entrance to the outdoor seating area, his arms wrapped around her and pulled her into a hug. She let herself be pulled in, arms circling his waist and head resting against his chest, eyes closing. “This is probably going to go unheeded but keep yourself safe out there,” she murmured, reluctantly pulling away from him. 

The smile wasn’t his usual, a little more genuine and guarded. “You know me, Doc. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” Quinn’s hand rest on her arm, squeezing lightly before he dropped it again and slid his hands into his pockets. “You do the same though. I’m not around to run interference with stalkers these days.” 

Maureen shook her head, nose wrinkling up. “Too soon.”

“It’s been a few years at least.”

“Too. Soon.”

There that smile came again and he cupped her face just long enough to kiss the top of her head. “I mean it though, Doc. Stay safe. I’ll call you for our session in a week.” 

The gesture lasted barely a moment and when she opened her eyes again, the only occupants of the sidewalk were her and the couple idling a few doorways down. Her hands dipped into the pockets of her oversized shrug for her keys, the fingers of her right hand brushing against something that hadn’t been there before. 

Cool and smooth to the touch, carved from a kind of wood she couldn’t name, the tiny lionness gleamed in the moonlight, sitting alert on her palm. 

It would fit right in with the rest.


End file.
